


The Hardest Thing

by MKittyUltra, PollyMajor_AKA_ughvengersassemble



Series: Promise You'll Write [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, M/M, WW2 AU, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:58:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MKittyUltra/pseuds/MKittyUltra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PollyMajor_AKA_ughvengersassemble/pseuds/PollyMajor_AKA_ughvengersassemble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final installment of 'Promise You'll Write' as requested by tumblr user yourstrulyandreblogged <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Thing

Dean pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes until stars swirled in his head and he felt like he had years ago when Alistair had beat him up behind the school bike sheds, right before Cas had showed up and kicked his ass. Just like that day, he wasn’t sure if what was happening was real. That day he’d seen Cas standing over him, hand extended to help him to his feet, and been so convinced he was imagining him that he’d not taken it. It was hardly his fault though, what with Cas’ eyes being the way they are, so wide and blue and sparkling; how could he have thought he was anything  _but_ a figment of his imagination? He was sure that as soon as he took his hands of his eyes now, the world would have righted itself, because surely, surely this couldn’t be real. 

Cas hadn’t sent a reply for months. Dean was sure - so sure - that it was because he was too busy, too far behind enemy lines. Maybe it was too hard for him to do that, out there, knowing Dean was safe at home? There had been no men at his door, holding folded flags, but of course there wouldn’t be. Dean was not - couldn’t be - Cas’ next of kin. It was against the lord, apparently, and so against the law in this land that claimed so pompously to be free. Some days fear had gripped him, he would have to admit, and he’d not been able to get up and do anything at all but worry, sick, that Cas was gone and Dean just wouldn’t ever be told. He had no family that Dean knew of, none at least that would know to tell Dean that he was gone. 

He was convinced he would know it in his heart - Cas was a part of him, wasn’t he? And Dean would know if a part of him was gone. He would know it with every fiber of his being. The sun wouldn’t shine, the phone wouldn’t ring, maybe Dean’s heart wouldn’t beat. The world would be silent and empty without Cas in it, so Dean would know if he was gone. He would have known it. Of this he was sure. 

Besides that, Cas had  _promised._  He’d promised Dean he’d come back. So that was that. He had to come back, didn’t he. He’d  _said._

V-E day had come, and three months later, V-J day had followed it, and still Dean hadn’t heard a word, not a single one, from Cas. He woke up every morning and waited by the letter box, but the envelopes that fell through were not from Cas. Some of them were even address for Cas to read. Most of them were still unread on the work surface in the kitchen, abandoned in disinterest. A week had passed since V-J day, two, and still nothing. Dean began to feel an ache in the small of his back which slowly radiated down to his knees and up to his throat. He stopped going to work at the factory, and after another week he stopped bothering to call in sick. It was too much, too much for him to bear. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t move. 

There was a knock on the door this morning at barely six am. 

Dean hadn’t been asleep, not really - nowadays he spent his life in the strange in-between of insomnia, staring at the walls. He barely noticed when they cut off the electricity, but the water was more difficult to ignore. It was warm, though the day was young, so Dean hadn’t bothered to get dressed before he went to answer the door. He fully expected it to be their landlord, wondering why he hadn’t received the rent. 

But when he got there, the silhouette was all wrong. He couldn’t see for sure because the glass was frosted, but he was fairly certain the uniform the man was wearing was military. Dean couldn’t see his face; there was no light in the apartment, of course, and the dawn was only just breaking. The man was lit from behind, and seemed unfamiliar, looming. Dean wasn’t sure how to answer the door. He wasn’t sure he could.

The man rapped his knuckles against the glass and Dean gulped. 

He had to move, speak, do something. Anything. 

He had shaken himself and reached for the door handle, pressing his eyes shut and his hands over them as fast as he could have. The man had said nothing so far, but Dean heard soft steps as he walked into the room, and the click of the door’s latch. A moment later there was a ‘click click’ as he tried the light, and a soft, familiar, tear jerking sigh as he realised that the electricity was off. 

Dean dropped his hands and stared, wide eyed and gawping. The man reached up and removed his military hat to reveal a shock of dark hair, longer than Dean knew it but tousled unmistakably. He was thinner - much thinner, Dean realised - and the set of his shoulders was different; defeated, almost, but he held himself the same, with quiet grace, his footsteps barely making a sound, still moving like he was meant to dance and not waste in mud and blood and war. 

"Cas," Dean choked, and he turned. His eyes seemed bright despite the relative darkness, and he took a step towards Dean, hand lifting and coming to rest gently on his cheek. Dean gasped at the touch, shivering under it. Cas was frowning, his face a picture of concern. Was he dreaming? He must have been dreaming, because even though he refused to admit it to himself, Dean had become convinced that Cas was never coming home. 

"Of course I came home," Cas whispered, his voice more husky than Dean remembered but not in a way that was at all unpleasant. "I promised you that I would."

"I missed you," Dean sighed, leaning in to Cas’ hand. Cas smiled fondly, the expression lighting up his haggard, thin face, which was still, of course, glorious. 

"I love you," Cas whispered back, and leaned towards him, reaching up to press his lips to Dean’s forehead. 


End file.
